The Kaimoana Operatic Society

(Wasn't sure what to call this one. Just a one-off).

"Well, Paul, I'm afraid I've got some news for you."

"Oh? It must be bad news if you're afraid?"

"Yes, it is. Good news for me, but bad for you. I hope so anyway."

"Now you've got me worried. What is bad news for me, Julie?"

"Well, it's this."

Ms. Stewart pushed a folded sheet of paper across Paul's desk. He picked it up, opened and scanned it.

"Oh. You're resigning. You're right, it is bad news. Can I ask why, Julie?"

"We're moving. My partner, Steve, has landed a promotion at last. He's going to be Assistant Manager of the Bank of New Zealand, High Street branch in Christchurch.

We are going to miss Kaimoana, but this is too good to miss. It's a big step up for him and could open all sorts of doors."

"That is good news, for you, but you're going to be missed here. You'll be a hard act to follow."

"Thanks, Paul. I'm sure you'll find someone, but we've got to go soon. I won't even be able to see the term out."

"We'll cope, somehow. Judith Morrison said that she'll come in to relieve whenever we need her."

"That's good, but there is your problem."

"Problem?"

"Yes. Mrs. Morrison will do relief teaching, but she's not prepared to do extra-curricular activities - says she's too old and she's not interested."

"Ah. So what extras will we have to cover?"

"There's the girls' netball team. That won't be a problem. Karen has been taking the juniors, she's happy to pick-up the senior team as well. No, your problem is the choir. I don't know who could take them on."

"The choir?"

"The kids' choir. We've made a commitment to supply a group of 12 kids for Mrs. Braidwood's Operatic Society. They're doing a musical comedy about the story of Kaimoana. They want all ages involved and a singing group of the little ones is always a big hit."

"And it's normal for the school to be involved?"

"Yes, we usually are. It's a tradition around here. It's a good experience for the kids and it’s good for the school to be involved in a community project. We have a choir, but they need a teacher to supervise and coach them."

"I see. Well, no problem, Julie, I'll do it myself."

"You will? Do you have any experience, Paul?"

"Yes, of course I have. I've taught kids' music for years, plus I used to be a member of the Kelburn Community Players. I wasn't always an old fuddy-duddy you know."

"I'm sure you weren't. No, forget I said that. You know what I mean."

"I hope I do," Paul laughed. "Don't worry, Julie. I'm sure we'll do fine. I'll look after your choir and it'll be good for me as well."

"It will. Everyone likes to see authority figures being normal people. Olive Braidwood is also the town librarian. If you like, we could go around there and see her in the lunch hour. I'll introduce you and tell her the good news.

She'll be delighted to have you on board. She's been getting a bit stressed."

"Okay. We'll do that then."

"Fine. I'll see you here at lunchtime. One thing though, just a word of warning. Olive can be a bit pushy. Don't let her overload you. They've got the kids and plenty of older people involved, but they're short of males willing to appear in the show."

"Thanks, but I can handle Mrs. Braidwood. I can be pushy too, if I have to."

So they went to the library and Paul met Olive Braidwood. She was sorry to hear that Julie was leaving, but delighted to get Paul for the show.

"It's so good to have another man with us. We really are short of males. If we have to, we'll dress some of the girls up in men's clothing, but it wouldn't be the same. It's going to be a great show this year. We've got an amazing pianist, a new boy in town, Gary Stafford, do you know him?"

"No. I don't think I've met him."

"Wait 'til you do. He'll blow your socks off! He really is that good."

"Okay. I'll look forward to meeting him.

She was right, the boy was good. Paul had been involved in amateur musicals for years and he'd never heard better. He played all styles of music and was easily good enough to be a professional. He was a nice kid too, not at all up himself. Paul liked him a lot.

He soon found that he was getting very involved in the show. It was a good thing to do and he was enjoying himself, but he had much more on his plate than just the choir. Olive Braidwood and her partner-in-crime, Patsy Tanner, were a pair of bulldozers. They were both dynamos and they weren't shy about delegating and finding more and more for willing hands to do.

It seemed that he'd lost his customary day of rest, on Sundays, for the forseeable future. The fishing was going to have to wait a while.

After a busy but enjoyable weekend, which he'd spent most of in the Memorial Hall, Paul was relaxing on Sunday evening when William finally came home. He'd been with Dylan all weekend, which Paul didn't mind at all. Dylan was a good boy and he was good for Wills.

But, he did worry that they spent all of their time together to the exclusion of everyone else. He hated to think what either one of them would do if they were to lose the other. They'd be totally lost! William had only made one other friend since coming to live here, and he'd lost him. Poor little bugger.

"Wills, come and sit here for a minute. I want to talk to you."

"Oh? About what?"

"Nothing bad. I've been thinking."

"And that's good?"

"Sure it is. About you and Dylan. You two spend all of your time together."

"Yeah, we do. Dad, don't even think about telling me to stop seeing Dylan. That is NOT going to happen. Dills is my best friend and he's the best friend I've ever had."

"He is. Don't worry, Wills, I wouldn't try to stop you seeing Dylan. I wouldn't do that."

"You couldn't anyway."

"Don't push it, Son."

"What's your problem then, Dad?"

"It's not a problem. I wouldn't want to see it become one, that's all. The fact of the matter is, Dylan is a couple of years older than you and you've made no other friends around here at all.'

"Dills is always saying the same thing and I tell him that it doesn't matter. I don't need any other friends."

"Dylan's a good kid. You should listen to him. The time will come when you need friends. In another year or so, Dylan will be away at university and you'll still be at school here. What are you going to do then?"

"I don't want to think about that. He'll be back for weekends and holidays anyway."

"I'm sure he will, but you do need to think about it. What are you going to do for 2 or 3 years when he's not here? You need some other friends, Wills. I'm not saying instead of Dylan, I'm saying as well as."

"Okay, maybe you're right, but now Damian's gone, there's no-one my age who interests me. They're all just kids."

"Give them a chance, Wills. They might suprise you."

"Yeah? Maybe. Damian's the only one who ever approached me."

"And you were glad of it, weren't you? If the mountain won't come to Mahomet, then Mahomet must go to the mountain. Wills, I'd like to see you more involved with the people in the town."

"How can I when they don't want to know me?"

"Get involved. I've joined the Operatic Society and it's a lot of fun. They are desperate for more boys to join them. They're doing a show, it's going to be good, but they are top-heavy in females. Why don't you come and join us? You're a born performer. I think you'd love it."

"Hmm. Well, all right, I will but only if Dills comes too."

"That'd be good. Dylan would be welcome too, but tell him to leave his guitar at home. I don't think they're ready for that."

"Who is? Yeah, it'd be good if Dills tried something new. His music is bloody awful."

"You'll get no arguments from me there. So you'll come?"

"I will if Dills does. I'll go and ring him and see what he says."

"Good boy, Wills. Thanks."

"Thanks, Dad. Thanks for worrying about me."

"That's my job. It always has been and always will be."

Dylan was reluctant, it was SO not his scene, but after Paul spoke to him, he agreed to come for Will's sake.

Mrs. Braidwood was delighted to see them walk into the hall on Monday afternoon and she welcomed them with open arms.

"Dylan! Have you come to join us? Great! And this must be your cousin, Paul's boy? Welcome, William. Welcome to the both of you. We knew it was going to be a good year, but we didn't think we'd have a movie star with us."

"Hey, Mrs. Braidwood. Thanks, but I'm not a movie star, I've just done some acting. It was different to this, but I'd like to give your show a go."

"You're very welcome and I'm sure you'll do fine. Maybe you could teach the rest of us about acting."

"I doubt it. It was a long time ago and I was just a kid."

"And now you're so old? Sorry, William, but to me you are a boy. Hell, so is my son and he's a father already. Do either of you play any instruments?"

Dylan's eyes lit up. "Well . . " he began, but William leapt in and cut him off.

"No we don't! Dills has got a guitar but you seriously don't want to know."

"Spoilsport."

"Hush, Dills. It's not that sort of music."

"I guess you're right."

"It's not?" said Mrs. Braidwood. "It's always good to try something new. Now, it's great to have you with us, but we're still short of males. If you could bring your friends along, that would be good. We have got a few though. Do you know Lachlan and Gary?"

William shook his head, but Dylan nodded. "Lachlan McLaughlin? Yeah, I know him. Is Gary that kid who hangs around with him?"

"I suppose that he must be. He's Gary Stafford and he's an amazing pianist - a very, very good musician. You'll meet them, they'll be here soon.

I've got to go. Have a seat, Boys, and I'll be with you shortly. Have a look at those scripts there. They're just rough copies and subject to change. Dr. Stevens wrote our show, but it's a work in progress. We have to adapt to suit the talent we've got."

She hurried away and left them sitting at the side.

"Talent?" Dylan sighed. "Maybe you've got talent, Wills, but I don't know what I can do. Stand and fill up the background, I suppose."

"You're better than that, Dills. We could do a love scene, a boy-boy clinch up on the stage. That'd wow them."

"That'd bloody shock them! I don't think Kaimoana's ready for that. Won't be happening."

"Yeah? Maybe you're right. Here's Dad coming."

Paul came into the hall, looking like a mother duck with his troupe of little ones. He smiled and nodded to the boys, but kept going to the back. They went up on to the stage to practice a dance routine.

Lachlan and Gary came in and came over to say "Hey". Lachlan and Dylan introduced their friends.

"Wow, William Scott! Didn't know we'd have a star in the show."

"Shut it, Gary. I'm not a star, I've just done a bit of acting."

"That's more than any of us have. Well, except for Lachie, he's been here before."

"You have, Lachlan?"

"I've been in a show before, years ago, when I was a kid. We did Robin Hood, Men in Tights. At least we won't have to wear panty hose this time."

"Let's hope not!"

"Ah, yeah. Watch it, here's the Can Can girls."

A group of 4 highschool girls came over to say hello. They were all wearing full, calf-length skirts on top of their street clothes.

"Hey, Girls," Dylan greeted them. "Is that your costumes? You look ridiculous."

"Shut up, James," Sally Griffin grinned. "These are just our practice skirts. Our real costumes are going to be sensational. We'll look like a pack of Parisian hookers."
"Oh. Just the usual then."

"Shut up, James! Anyway, don't laugh too soon. The story line has a bunch of whaling men trying to do the Can Can before the girls show up."

Gary said, "Don't look at me. I just play the piano."

"And you do it so well! No, you'll be safe from that. You all will. They want a bunch of fat and ugly old men. They'll probably use the old-age pensioners, the older the better."

"Yeah, you're safe," Fern said. "You're all far too good-looking, even Lachlan. Damm, Lachlan! You're looking good you know. Whatever you're doing, keep on doing it."

"Well, umm, yeah, thanks, I think." Lachlan blushed.

"Fern!" Sally laughed. "I thought you had your eye on Ashton Woods?"

"I'm just saying. Anyway, Ashton's off the scene these days. He's spending all his time with Peter de Groot. Speaking of which, have you seen Peter's cousins? Whoah!"

"Yeah, whoah. They're pretty cute all right. I think they're all snobs though."

"When they look that good, they can afford to be."

"All right, Girls." Mrs. Braidwood came back. "Paul's using the stage with his kids. We'll go and use the lunch room to practice. The Kapa Haka group can have the entrance lobby. Gary, we've got a keyboard set up, would you come and do the music for us? Lachlan, you could go and help Mr. Jackson. He and his crew are painting flats behind the stage."

"What can we do?" William asked.

"You two just wait there. Patsy Tanner will be with you in a minute. She needs you both to sing so that we can decide where to use you.

Sally, where is Joyce?"

"I don't know. She should be here by now. She's probably scrapping with Mac somewhere. They usually are."

They all went, leaving William and Dylan sitting alone again.

"Singing!" Dylan said. "I didn't know there was going to be singing involved."

"Of course there is, Dills. It's a musical. Don't worry, they'll just put us in a chorus if we're no good."

"Oh, I'm good enough, but I don't like this sort of crappy music."

"We know what sort of crappy music you like."

"Shut it, Wills. It's not crappy, it's good music, not like this stuff."

"If this is not like your music, then that's good."

"Watch it, Wills."

"Dylan James, I'll have you know, this is not crap music we're doing here." Mrs. Tanner had walked up to them unseen. "We're doing show tunes - some of the best songs from the best shows ever written."

"Yeah, yeah. Couldn't we, at least, do a couple of hip-hop tunes, Patsy? It doesn't all have to be old stuff, does it?"

"You'd have to talk to Dr. Stevens about that, but I don't like your chances. It's a show, Dylan. We do show tunes. Come on over to the piano and we'll see what you can do."

They went over to the piano which was down on the floor in front of the stage. Patsy sat down and William and Dylan stood next to her.

"Now, Boys. What have we got here?"

She shuffled through a pile of pages of sheet music. "Aha! Maybe William could try this," she said with a grin.

William looked at the sheet she'd selected and shook his head. "I Feel Pretty? I don't think so. That's a girl's song, Mrs. Tanner. I'm not singing that, I'd look stupid."

"Dead right!" Dylan agreed emphatically. "We're here to have fun, not to make complete dorks of ourselves in public."

"Okay, okay. I was only joking. How about this, from the Phantom of the Opera - The Music of the Night?"

"Well, I'll try. I'm not a great singer you know."

"Just do your best, William. It's only a trial to see how you go."

She played and William stood behind her where he could follow the words. He sang okay, nothing startling, his voice was just average. While he was waiting, Dylan looked through the sheet music that she'd left on top of the piano. The song finished and the boys grinned at each other.

"Okay, William," Patsy nodded. "You're not too bad, I've heard a lot worse. Front row of the chorus for you, I think."

"Thanks, Mrs. Tanner. That'd suit me, I couldn't see over the heads from the back."

"You wouldn't. You wouldn't be seen front the front either, and I think that's important."

"Important?"

"Yes. You're a fine-looking boy. If you've got it, flaunt it I always say. Now, Dylan, do you want to try the same song?"

"No thanks. Could we try this?" He handed her a page. "I know the words to that one."

"Really?" she queried. "The Impossible Dream from The Man of La Mancha? Dylan, this is probably the most difficult song we've got here."

"If I've got to sing, I'd like to try that one. I know it, our grandmother used to sing it."

"Yeah, she did," William said. "She sang it to me too. She wasn't very good."

"I'm not suprised," Patsy said. "This is a difficult song. Lots of great singers have tried it and failed. Have you heard Elvis' version? He made a mess of it in my humble opinion. Think you can do better than Elvis, do you, Dylan?"

"No, I don't. I think this was a bad idea. There must be something I could do without getting up on the stage. I could sell tickets or something."

"Any dork could do that!" William protested. "Come on, Dills. Don't be chicken. You wouldn't have to be much to be better than me and I want to hear you sing something different."

"Well."

"Please, Dills?"

"Okay, just for you."

"Great! That's my Boy!" William beamed.

Patsy looked from one grinning face to the other and she thought, 'Hmmm.' She wouldn't blame them either. They were a pair of nice-looking kids and obviously very close.

"All right then. Let's try it, shall we?"

Patsy played and Dylan sang. The kids up on the stage were taking a break and they sat/stood and watched and listened. Paul, in his 'director's chair', sat up and took notice. He knew this song well. The Impossible Dream was an impossible song for amateurs. When he was with the Kelburn Community Players, years ago, they used it in one of their shows. They made a right hash of it.

Dylan was doing quite well actually, he suprised him. He'd heard the music that he usually murdered. Patsy's playing was quite pedestrian. She was nowhere near the standard of the boy playing out in the supper room, but she was doing okay.

The song built to the finish, Dylan was getting a bit breathless and he missed the climatic note entirely. He fell flat, and he knew it. He looked at Wills and made a wry grin.

"Sorry," he said. "I stuffed that up, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did." William grinned. "Better than I could do though."

Patsy said, "It wasn't that bad, Dylan. Okay, you missed the high note. That's nothing to be ashamed of, most people do, it's bloody difficult. Elvis missed it too.

But, you're not too bad you know. Given a simpler song, you'll do fine. We can use you in the chorus, you're tall enough to see over the heads from the back. I'll talk to Olive and Dr. Stevens, I think you're good enough, with a bit of practice and training, for a solo or two. Definitely good enough for a duet. Do you know Summer Nights from Grease?"

"I've heard it. I wouldn't say that I know it."

"That'll be your homework then. Learn Summer Nights. I think that's your song."

"Okay, I will. Thanks, Patsy."

"Thank you, Boys. I'm not sure what you're going to do now. Go and watch the Can Can girls and Mrs. Braidwood will find you a job to get rid of you."

On the stage, Paul nodded to himself. He agreed with Patsy's verdict. Neither Wills nor Dills was ever going to be a star, but they were good enough for an amateur production, especially Dills. That was a difficult song he'd attempted and while he didn't shine, he was not too bad. Still, he couldn't help feeling disappointed. He was hoping that his nephew was going to show a hidden talent - he didn't.

Then he heard it. Real talent and really hidden. A voice was coming from behind the curtain at the back of the stage. Someone back there was singing The Impossible Dream, and he was good. He was very, very good.

Paul sat spellbound and listened to the amazing voice of the unseen singer. The song built and built and he easily soared through the crashing climax. Paul had, unconsciously, risen to his feet and he stood there, amazed, stunned and very, very impressed.

"Bloody Hell!" he whispered. "Who is that?"

He lifted the curtain and looked backstage. It was disappointing that Dylan didn't prove to be an unlikely star, but here was one even more unlikely and he was a real star - an incredible singer!

A tall, well-built boy, blond hair, blue eyes and a wide smile, was standing on a step-ladder with his arms flung out wide and looking down at the gobsmacked boy looking up at him. He had bare feet and was clad in paint-splattered blue overalls. They didn't see Paul looking back at them.

"And that's how it's done," the boy on the ladder said. "It was in the version I heard anyway. Jim Nabors, I think."

"Fuck me!" the other boy said. "I didn't know you could sing like that. I didn't know anyone could sing like that. That was awesome!"

"Hey! I'm not just a pretty face. I've got talents."

"You have!" They both looked around at Paul when he spoke. "You've got real talent. I've never heard better. What the hell are you doing back here?"

"Doing?" the blond boy shrugged. "Nothing much. We're meant to be helping Mr. Jackson, painting flats, but he's gone and disappeared on us. We think he's probably smoking a joint somewhere."

"A joint?"

"Yeah," the dark-haired boy said. "Drugs - marijuana, you know. Mr. J's a bit of an old hippy."

"Oh, okay as long as you two are not doing it with him."

"Not bloody likely! We don't do that shit. We've seen where it gets you."

"I'm pleased to hear it. That's a dead-end street. Your parents have taught you well."

"Oh, you've got no idea!"

"Anyway, I didn't mean what are you doing back here right now. I meant, why aren't you out the front and center-stage? With a voice like that, you should be starring in the show, not painting backdrops."

"It's gotta be done and someone's got to do it," the blond boy said. "That’s what we've signed up for. Our job is scenery, props and costumes."

"You're going to waste. I'm Paul Scott, I'm here with the kids' choir. And your names are?"

The dark-haired boy replied. "Joel and Virgil. I'm Virgil Cain, that's Virgil not virgin, and this is my mate, Joel Stafford."

"Joel Stafford? Are you related to Gary, our pianist?"

"Yeah, I am," Joel grinned. "He's my cousin. Music must run in the family."

"It really must! Gary is very good, but you are - well, incredible actually. Has Mrs. Braidwood heard you sing?"

"No. No-one asked us. Our job is back here."

"It should not be. We haven't got that much talent that we can afford to waste it, and you are definitely going to waste. Do you sing, Virgil?"

"I sing like a dog. But Joel, you've got to get out there. You don't belong backstage. He's right, you're being wasted."

"You think?"

"I do. Why haven't you sung for me before?"

"Well, I was busy."

"Oh yah! But you've blown your cover now. You've got to do it, Joel. You have to!"

"Well . . if they want me, I will."

"They're friggin' mad if they don't."

"They certainly are," Paul said. "Come with me, Boys. We'll go and see the Boss."

"I thought I was the Boss."

"Shut up, Virgil. You're not. Come on, we'll go with the Man."

"The Man? The Boss? What am I?"

"You don't want to know."

"Watch it, Joel Stafford. You're still on trial you know. Come and be the Singer."

Paul led the way, across the stage and down to the floor of the hall. He stopped at the piano and picked up the sheet music, and then they went through to the supper room at the side.

The girls were still practicing their routine, coached by Mrs. Braidwood and Gary was playing a keyboard. William and Dylan had gone, Mrs. Braidwood had found a job for them. Gary grinned a welcome and finished the tune.

"Hey, Joel. Hey, Virgil. You guys want something?"

"No they don't, but we do," Paul replied. "Olive, you've got to hear this. Girls, take a break, and Gary, would you play this for us please?" He handed Gary the music.

He took the page and looked at it. "The Impossible Dream? Big song. Yeah, I think I can play it. It's not an easy tune."

Paul said, "Hard for some people, maybe. Are you ready, Joel? Let's do it. Blow their socks off, Boy!"

"Joel is going to sing this?" said Gary. "That'll be interesting. Okay, let's see if you can blow the socks off."

He could and he did. By the time they reached the end of the song, even Gary had stopped playing and he stood, like everyone else, in open-mouthed shock. Joel grinned at the stunned faces around the room. No-one was saying a word, so he took a bow.

Virgil was the first to recover. "Wow! That's my Boy. Awesome, Joel. Frigging Awesome!"

"He certainly is," Paul beamed proudly. He felt a proprietal interest in his discovery. "Olive, you've gone very quiet. What do you think?"

"I'm in shock. Very nice. Thank you, Joel. I'm sorry we can't use you in the show."

"What?"" Gary squawked. "Not use him? But you have to! Joel, you're incredible. Mrs. Braidwood, please say that you're joking."

"Yes, of course I'm joking. We can't not use you in our show. Joel, you're unbelievable. First Gary and now you. I don't think I can take any more shocks like that."

"So, he's in then?" Paul was a little confused.

"Of course he's in, Paul, as long as he's willing. With Gary on piano and Joel singing, we don't need anyone else and we'd still have the best value for money show that this town's ever seen. Are you in, Joel?"

"Yeah, I'm in," Joel grinned. "I'm getting sick of painting flats anyway."

"Great! I'll paint the flats, if I have to. You're too good to lose. Girls, thank you. You can go home now, we've finished for today. You boys stay where you are, I'll be back. I'll ring Dr. Stevens and tell him to get down here right now!"